


Watch 'im in the Red

by timetravellingscientist



Category: Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger
Genre: Christmas, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetravellingscientist/pseuds/timetravellingscientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was that? Christmastime? It's all phony. And that creepy old guy in a red suit? As phony as it gets. But if you want to hear my story about that one Christmas Eve I remember most, you'd better listen up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch 'im in the Red

Christmastime. Boy if there ever is a time for phonies it's Christmastime. I mean, everyone's supposed to be all happy and nice and all, but how can you be happy when it's like a gazillion degrees below freezing outside for Chrissake? Cold as hell. Besides, the whole point is that you're supposed to buy stuff for people. What kinda holiday is that? A real phony one. Anyway, there was this one Christmas I remember real well, or actually, what happened right before it. Listen up and I'll tell ya.

So it was the night before Christmas, like Christmas Eve, ya know, and I was determined to wait up all night for Santa. Me wait up for Santa. That killed me. Anyway, I was doing it for my sister Phoebe. I didn't actually believe in Santa Claus, but she insisted he was real, so I decided the only way I was ever going to find out was to wait up the whole goddam night to see if the big red phony ever came 'round.

I was the only one up, ya see. Phoebe had gone to sleep, as had my parents. They told me to go to bed, too, on their way upstairs, because apparently Santa only comes when everyone is asleep. That killed me. I checked on Phoebe after a while, just for the hell of it. She was sleepin' like an angel. I bet she was dreaming of sugarplums or something. Sugar plums for Chrissake! That killed me. Then outside there was such a racket, I thought a goddam helicopter had dropped a load of cymbals on the roof or something. That's what it sounded like, for Chrissake. So I look out the window, and there's like a whole herd of goddam reindeer stampeding in our lawn trampling all the new-fallen snow. Jeezus if there's anything I hate it's when some hotshot phony has to come trample all the nice new-fallen snow in front of your goddam house.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Even phonier then the reindeer was the sleigh they were pulling and the creepy old guy in red sitting in it, with a huge smile plastered to his goddam face like he was a prince or something. That killed me. And then the old phony like took roll call or something like his reindeer were in grade school. Boy did that ever kill me. It was like Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzkrieg. Those are like the phoniest names ever. Cupid? Vixen, Prancer? Come on. And Blitzkrieg. Where the hell did that come from? Anyway, I was getting tired of watching the goddam hotshot and his magical pixie ponies, so I turned away from the window, but somehow in that time, he made his way onto our goddam roof—the roof for Chrissake— and was sliding down the chimney. That killed me.

I hid behind the sofa so he couldn't see me spying on him, but I could still see him. He was even phonier up close, with his red coat and that ridiculous hat with the big cotton ball on the end. Impractical for sneaking down people's chimneys and getting all dirty and all. And he had this ginormous bag of toys with him, too. Just like they say. He put it down and then the old phony started eating the cookies Phoebe left on the coffee table for him. But they didn't have his name on them or anything, so how the hell did he know they were for him? What if they were my goddam cookies for Chrissake? It's not like he needed the cookies, or anything. He was probably one of the fattest guys I've ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on for Chrissake.

After he finished devouring all those cookies, he went back to his sack and started putting presents in all the stockings and under the tree and all. Then he left without a word, back through the goddam chimney somehow—the chimney. I could hear all the reindeer stomping around on the roof some more as he got in the sleigh and took off. And as he flew away—flew, I tell ya—I heard the old red call out all phony-like, like he was a prince or something, "Happy Christmas to all, and have a grand old night!" Grand. Now if there's ever a word I hate it's grand. It's the phoniest of them all for Chrissake. But still, that killed me.

After Mr. Hotshot was gone, I went to check my stocking to see if he left me anything good. Nothing. 'Cept a letter—a letter for Chrissake! No, not even long enough to consider a letter. More like a goddam note. This is what it said:

To Holden: Now maybe next time you'll believe.

P.S. I know you were watching the whole time. Now ain't that phony?

All the best 'til next year,

S.C.

Boy was I depressed. I guess he ain't such a goddam phony after all.


End file.
